


At First

by ravenclawkohai



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Puppet Cloud Strife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 06:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15042668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkohai/pseuds/ravenclawkohai
Summary: Inspiration: "Never run back to what broke you."





	At First

               “Glutton for punishment” was a phrase that Cloud, like everyone else, had heard many times before. He never really thought it applied to him, though: he’d gotten the shit end of the stick too many times for that. There was a long list of tragedies in his life, but he always got back up, one way or another. Even when he was nothing but bits stitched together by Zack’s stolen personality, he’d gotten back up.

               But there was a case to be made for the idea that he sought out trouble. He was looking for trouble when he tried out for SOLDIER, he was looking for trouble when he joined up with AVALANCHE, he was _definitely_ looking for trouble when he chased after Sephiroth. His mother always said he had a bone to pick with the world, and she was right. And that never stopped getting him in trouble.

               But the trouble was over, now. He’d gone through Hel and back to put the planet to rights, to stop Sephiroth and clear Meteor from the sky.

               The trouble now was that there _was_ no trouble.

               There was plenty to do, what with rebuilding the world, but he wasn’t suited for that. That was for Reeve, with a good head on his shoulders and the smarts to know how to use it.  No, he was best suited for the fray, for adrenaline and danger. He missed the way the fight made him feel _alive._ He was glad it was over—he _was_. He didn’t miss it. Maybe parts of it, but that crazy adventure wasn’t fun. Sure, it was the adrenaline ride of a life time and brought him to his friends, but there was also so much loss.

               When he was bored, he had to remind himself of the loss to make sure he didn’t miss it (too much).

               Taking up his delivery business was the best option he had. There was no SOLDIER anymore, there was no one paying for people to run around in the dangerous wilderness. But running _through_ the wilderness to drop off packages brought him in danger’s way. If he routinely went just a little out of his way to hit the heart of a monster nest, just for the fun of it, well, no one ever knew.

               He told himself that was all he missed.

               But some part of him, deep down inside, knew that that wasn’t all.

               He missed Sephiroth.

               He missed having that adversary, having that clear line of right and wrong and knowing which side he was on. He missed knowing who the bad guy was. He missed having someone around who could truly go toe to toe with him, to give as good as he got, to give him a run for his money.

               He missed the struggle. There was the suffering, sure, but there was also the overcoming. The powering through, the perseverance. The surviving through sheer obstinacy just to thumb his nose as the one who put him in that misery.

               There was the tension between them. They were bound so close together that Cloud had been able to feel it in his bones when Sephiroth died, when that tie was cut. They were linked, and part of Cloud would always be missing now that he was gone.

               There was the fine window of pleasure that had come with it all. He’d never felt alone, when Sephiroth was in his head. There was someone to turn to for comfort, even if he didn’t know what he was doing. There were the shadows of dreams he didn’t remember, ones of long talks, ones of strange camaraderie, ones of pleasure and heat.

               He wouldn’t admit to himself that he missed Sephiroth at all, but he buried that last part _deep_ down.

               But still, that longing was there, and he should have known better than to ignore it.

               Or at the very least, he should have known better than to think that would be the end of it.

               In his defense, no one knew what Geostigma was when it first happened. All he knew was the frantic search for a cure for Denzel’s sake. That, and the equally frantic cover up when his own arm started to turn mottled. His arm was only really a concern because of how it would upset Tifa and the kids. He could handle a little pain. He could handle a lot of pain. And while it _certainly_ hurt, he just reminded himself that it wasn’t worse than the labs, and moved on.

               Besides, after that year chasing Sephiroth, he was used to living with a death threat over his head.

               When it first started to go downhill, he still didn’t realize what was going on. All he knew was that he started having strange dreams that he couldn’t remember when he woke up. He woke up boneless and content in a way that he hadn’t been in longer than he could remember. It was that old feeling he remembered from Nibelheim of being under thick covers, warm and safe, when the air outside was biting cold. It was strange, considering the stress he was under during his daily life now, but he would take his breaks where they came.

               There was no way for him to know who was coming to him in those dreams.

               There was no way for him to make the connection when he started coming to him outside of dreams.

               It was just little flashes at first. He associated it with the twinge of a Geostigma flare up. It was a burst of pain behind his forehead that ended quickly, but was bad enough to make him stumble. He didn’t make the association as quick as he should have. No, it wasn’t until he fell to the ground on his knees, clutching his head with an explosion of green behind his eyes that he realize what was happening.

               That Sephiroth had come back.

               He’d never felt such mixed emotions before. First, there was the dread. The fear, the anxiety, the uncertainty. But there was that strange longing again, and it burned bright. And underneath all of it, beneath his awareness, relief.

               He was back.

               He told himself, at first, that it was impossible. Sephiroth was dead. He’d killed him himself. He’d watched him melt away into the Lifestream.

               But he’d killed Sephiroth before, too. And he’d come back, stronger than ever.

               So there was a chance that Sephiroth, in some way, had returned. Now that he’d started having those telltale flashes again, he had to work under the assumption that he was back. The question, then, was logistics. Had his own body found a way to survive the Lifestream? Had there been some part of Jenova he used to resurrect himself? Did he use a clone they missed? There was no way to know.

               What Cloud _did_ know was that it was getting worse.

               He’d managed to hide the flashes primarily by staying by himself. He was glad he had already taken up residence in Aeris’s old church, or Tifa might have become suspicious. She certainly would have if she noticed the way his attention kept being pulled away. The way he became distant sometimes as he listened to the distant muttering of voices in his head. And, at first, it was just the muttering, and while he wasn’t fine with that, he could handle it.

               It wasn’t until it was truly out of hand that he realized he couldn’t, in fact, handle it.

               He woke one morning to a sweet, familiar voice crooning his name in his ear.

               He should have woken up like a shot. Instead, he lazily came into awareness, still feeling that utterly relaxed peace he’d come to expect after his dreams. It took him a long, long moment to realize that anyone had called him at all, much less who it was.

               Once he put everything together, he finally sprung upright in bed.

               “Gods _dammit_ ,” Cloud whispered. If he was hearing Sephiroth again, he was, as Cid would say it, in deep shit.

               “ _Good morning_ ,” Sephiroth said, smug as could be. Cloud, in spite of himself, glanced around. He knew there was no one there, but he wasn’t sure if he was comforted or not to have it confirmed.

               “Maybe,” Cloud told himself, “it’s just in my head. Maybe it’s the Geostigma. Maybe it can make you hallucinate.”

               “ _Oh, puppet, we both know that’s not true.”_

               Yeah. That was Sephiroth all right.

               He was frozen, overpowered by conflicting emotion.

               Dread and relief.

               _“You miss it, don’t you? You miss being led. It was so much easier, wasn’t it? And it suited you so much better.”_

               Cloud heaved a deep breath before climbing out of his bed roll.

               He had limited options. In the end, there were really only two: tell the team or keep it to himself. The logical part of him knew that the most responsible thing to do would be to pick up the PHS he rarely touched and start making calls. But there was some gut part of him that made his fingers freeze on the phone. He didn’t want to trouble them. He could handle it.

               He didn’t stop to consider that he’d told himself that before, and had ended up giving Sephiroth the Black Materia.

               But he kept his counsel, and kept his secret.

               And that quiet voice plagued him day in and day out.

               _“Stop fighting. Everything will be so much easier when you do. Aren’t you tired?”_

_“You haven’t felt whole since we were separated. You long for it, don’t you? For Reunion?”_

_“Come back to me, puppet. You know where you belong_.”

               And it wore on him. Slowly, ever so slowly, it broke down his defenses. He was made for endurance, but this was a battle he’d been fighting for years. He’d had his reprieve, but if anything, he was weaker for it. He wasn’t sure how to fend Sephiroth off anymore, which was something he took advantage of.

               He wasn’t sure how long it took him to notice that he was losing time again, only that the gaps seemed to become bigger and bigger. Everything he could remember was colored with Sephiroth’s voice. He was holding on by his fingertips. He should reach out, call someone, _anyone_ , but everyone seemed so far away, and did it matter? Wasn’t this better?

               It all faded into green, right up until he was standing in the church, cradling a metal box in his arms.

               He blinked himself back to awareness, fighting back the panic that always came from resurfacing. There was nothing to do but move forward. In a natural move of curiosity, he opened the box in his hands.

               He wasn’t expecting Jenova’s head to be staring back at him.

               _“You did it, puppet. You found her. We can be together again. All that’s left is Reunion.”_

In a trace, Cloud lifted the head from the box.

               _“It will be just you and I, Cloud. The two of us and the stars. Bring us back together_.”

               Gently, he touched the head to his chest.

               He felt two arms wrap around him and guide his hands, pressing the head into his torso. And, strangely enough, it seemed to melt in, with wisps of black smoke and green light. His eyes contracted, mako green and slit, before he squeezed them shut. It was difficult to breathe as he did this, at the overwhelming pressure between his lungs, but it was worth it. Reunion always was worth it.

               He pressed, and he pressed, and he pressed, and then it was done. Those arms settled around him in an embrace, a chin coming to rest on his shoulder. A face turned into his neck, and he could feel a smile on its lips.

               _“Oh, Cloud. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to run back to what broke you?”_


End file.
